


Of things learned and forgot

by JaqofSpades



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: 12 days of Ficmas 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan's going to need every last ounce of all his hard-won judgement.  Because there was no way the Professor could have warned him about … this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of things learned and forgot

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning. Most people who read my X-men stories come looking for Rogan. And 99% of the time that's exactly what they get. This is the other 1%. Take another look at the pairing, Rogan lovers - there was lots of chemistry on screen in DOFP, but unfortunately, none of it was between Logan and Rogue :D

Some things hadn't changed, Logan realises slowly. The woman is warm, naked and beautiful, and his judgement is as suspect as ever. (Maybe that's the thing about being older, Logan thinks wryly. He can actually appreciate things like good judgement, now.)

Other things … the dilapidated mansion leaves him in shock. Young, rash Hank is a wire brush on his nerves. And then there's Xavier.

Logan swallows, finally alone in his room. He's going to need every last ounce of all that hard-won judgement. Because there was no way his Professor could have warned him about … this.

Young Xavier still likes his speeches, sure. Still knows how to own a room. But when their eyes had locked, Charles had smirked, just a little, and something had started to burn. Low, and hard, and so unthinkable that Logan has to get out of there, fast, before he stops thinking altogether and takes Charles up on his offer.

He thinks back to the cleancut academic he'd met a decade or six earlier, and nothing. Not a tingle. Things might have been different if the dandy hadn't so clearly staked his claim, but he doubts it. He barely remembers meeting Xavier, that first time.

This meeting, he'll remember for the rest of his life. That immediate recognition of someone you want to do dirty things to. The scent that had risen between them; raw, pure lust complicating the usual dance of predator and prey. (Fucked if he knows which he is.) He'd had to bite down on the urge to release his blades, forgetting for a moment they weren't blades yet. Forgetting he was here to do a job.

Forgetting, in that moment, that this was the Professor.

There hadn't been one, single thing to remind him of his avuncular, all-knowing mentor. This Xavier is all wounded-martyr eyes and sulky, debauched challenge, and Logan's first instinct was to fuck the man into the floor.

Unfortunately, he doesn't remember that being in the game plan. 

*

Two days, they last. Hank has gone to bed after handing the Professor a syringe full of noxious yellow normality. Xavier lifts a brow, and Logan just settles himself deeper in to the armchair, filling the room with smoke from his cigar. (He'd forgotten this about the 70s. A man's actually allowed to smoke.)

“Take your mushroom cloud somewhere else, old man. I do this in private, thanks.” 

“Why? You ashamed of putting that shit in your arm? Or does it feel so good things get a little ... messy?”

Logan winces at his own stupidity even as Xavier's eyes narrow, pink tongue sliding out to wet girlishly lush lips. 

“Not that sort of drug. It just takes away the pain, and the voices. But if you want messy, I'm sure we can come up with something that will help.” Me, on my knees, his voice seems to promise, though it could be his imagination, Logan allows. He blames the lips.

“But it will be significantly more fun for everyone if I stick this shit in my arm first.”

Xavier holds Logan's gaze as he plucks up a vein, yanking the tourniquet tight between his teeth. When his blue eyes flick away to place the needle, Logan finds himself gulping in air, desperately trying to decide how to play this. Their mutual fascination has already filled the room with the low stink of sex, and he tortures himself with it, desperate to give in. One breath more, and he's going to be shucking himself out of these jeans and fucking the kid's mouth before that drug even hits his system. One minute more and he's gonna have him face down on that ugly pool table.

He takes the breath. Stutters over another as Xavier unbuckles his belt, then luxuriates in the third, his senses singing of sex and drugs and everything unholy as his hands fist in Xavier's ridiculously long hair.

Even manages to develop a liking for violent orange felt. Shame the table is wrecked by the time his claws are done with it.

*

He wakes in another bed, in another time. He tries to think of it as his time, but he's even more adrift than he was in 1973. The faces are familiar, but they're mere echoes of the people he's fought alongside for decades, his teammates, drinking buddies, lovers.

All except one.

Charles Xavier no longer knows how their past spooled out that first time, the years they spent piecing Logan's memories back together, the gradual birth of trust and respect as Logan took his place as the X-men commander. He's the one with the memories this time, and just like Xavier had warned before they sent him back, he bears them alone.

Except for one.

They both remember that, and Logan is the only person in the mansion who never once asks why Xavier keeps an old, unplayable pool table in the conservatory.

 

_fin_

_Disclaimer: This is a transformative work (fan fiction) as protected under the fair use provisions of international copyright law. I am not profiting from this work, nor do I make any claims to, or intend any infringement on, the intellectual properties held by the rights owner._


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